The New Hire
by Sylvia1
Summary: Bringing the Undertaker into London Dispatch is going to be more difficult than William expected. Just getting the reaper through processing proves to be quite the chore.
1. Chapter 1

The New Hire

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They were more light weight than his old ones used to be. That made Undertaker a bit more skeptical of them. He liked his spectacles to have a bit of weight if he had to wear them. It reminded him that he was wearing them and it made them less likely to be knocked off in the middle of battle. He glanced over to Pops who was staring at him with growing apprehension.

"You don't like them," Pops said.

"That's not it," Undertaker put on his best smile. "They're quite fashionable and simple too which is perfect for my tastes."

Pops narrowed his eyes, "But?"

"But they're too light. All it'll take is a good breeze to come by and - w_hoops! -_ There go my expensive spectacles again."

Pops' expression hadn't changed. There wasn't even a tiny tug at the corner of his lips that might indicate he was trying to hide laughter. Undertaker was used to having a impassive audience, he had been working with the dead for many years after all, but Pops' continuous lack of amusement was grating on his nerves.

Beside him William cleared his throat. "The material is more light weight to prevent fatigue," he explained. "These new spectacles also have a GPS system built in along with a communication device."

Undertaker pulled off the glasses and eyed them, bringing them up to within an inch of his nose so he could see. "Communications? Where in the world would you put them?"

Pops snatched them from his hands with a heavy sigh. He pointed to a series of three buttons on the side, two were silver to match the frame, and one was black. "The one in back, the black one, will get you a direct line with your supervisor. This one turns on ultraviolet vision, handy for trailing demons, and this one sends out a ping to your entire dispatch unit."

Undertaker blinked, "My goodness! Things really do advance quickly up here, don't they?"

William pushed up his glasses, "You haven't been working in the Shinigami Dispatch Society for over fifty years. Did you really think we wouldn't upgrade our technology at some point?"

"Well, I was hoping…"

Pops handed him back his glasses, and Undertaker put them on with a sigh. "So I guess that means I'm stuck with them like this?"

"I don't think I have anything like that around anymore. Everything is light weight and portable these days." Pops slapped him on the back.

William led the way as they left the Spectacles Department.


	2. Chapter 2

"So where to next?"

William turned around and looked him up and down. "Next you'll need a haircut."

Undertaker's eyes went wide. Wearing glasses he understood, getting the technology on his Deathsythe updated also made sense, even having to share a flat with his fellow dispatch unit was fine by him; but asking him to cut his hair? He clutched a bit of his silver locks and the long braid that came around his shoulder. "Do you know how long it took me to grow this out?"

William stared at him impassively. "Follow me."

Undertaker had to walk briskly so that he could walk at his side. "Will, I can't do this. Don't make me do this. I'll pull it back into a ponytail like I used to. Hell, I'll even braid it back if you want me to, but don't make me cut it!"

William didn't seem to be listening. "It needs to match up with the uniform standard. I'm not sure we can permit those earrings either, come to think of it."

Undertaker felt tears welling up in his eyes. It was foolish to feel so upset at mere ornaments and hair, but these belonged to him. They were part of him. They made up who he was, and he didn't think he would be able to work if he felt like someone else. He understood that most shinigami weren't able to have much of an individual identity, especially reapers who were expected to wear the standard issued uniform, but he didn't consider himself a regular reaper. He wasn't some green kid just out of Academy training. It was bad enough that he had to go back into reaping to begin with, but losing what little identity he had was too much.

"Will…" he pleaded.

William stopped and turned to him, stamping his Deathsythe on the ground with a metal clang. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

Undertaker took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. "It does. I know these things aren't part of a typical uniform, but surely you can make an exception for me." He gave his best smile.

William adjusted his spectacles. "You mean, other than having your past discrepancies excused, ignoring the fact that you tore apart my reapers only a few years ago, or the fact that you're being permitted back into reaping at all?" Undertaker's smile faded. "Oh wait, you mean you want another exception for your appearance."

"Yes?" Undertaker gave a shaky breath. "It may not be an official uniform, but it is my uniform. It's the outfit everyone recognizes. It's what the Legendary Reaper wears, and even though it isn't standard, it might as well be for me. Hell, even my statue has long hair and earrings."

"Hmm."

Undertaker wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. He knew that his new supervisor was going to be difficult to work with, especially knowing how much trouble he gave the London Dispatch Unit in the past, but he hadn't realized how much of a hard-ass William Spears would be.

Truth be told, Undertaker had never wanted to come back to reaping, but he knew self-imposed vacation couldn't last forever. The Dispatch Society always found you again. Shinigami were immortals, which meant retirement was out of the question. Undertaker still didn't feel ready for a return, but the Dispatch Society felt differently.

Truth be told, he felt about as welcome now as he did the day he left. He should never have allowed them to lure him back. He would lose himself all over again in this never-ending work just like he did last time. They would work him to the bone, demand the impossible, then get surprised when he lost his temper (or his mind) and walked out again. A cold, familiar numbness fell over him and whatever tears might have fallen went dry.

"Fine, Will." The words dropped like a dead weight from his lips. William stiffened. Undertaker couldn't tell if it was out of surprise or fear. He passed William and headed toward the barber shop.

"Undertaker," William said. Undertaker paused and looked over his shoulder, his lips thin and without a hint of laughter. "You're going the wrong way," he said and pointed down a separate hall with his Deathscythe.

"Of course…" Undertaker muttered and changed direction. William matched his step and they walked in silence to the shop. It was only hair, right? He could grow it out again, eventually, some day when he was no longer tethered to the stupid rules of the Dispatch Society. As he walked up to the front door and took the handle, William caught his shoulder. Undertaker had to hold back the urge to slap the hand away.

"Please. I don't want to get started on the wrong foot with you."

"You're doing a fine job."

William frowned and something about it looked pained. "To be honest, I've admired you for a very long time. I don't know if I can possibly explain to you how much of an inspiration you've been to me over the years."

Undertaker shrugged, "It must be fun to kick an old dog when he's down, eh?" He missed William's jaw drop. "It's okay, son. I guess I've had it coming. I've made far too many enemies over the years, I can see that now."

"That's not it, that's not it at all!"

Undertaker looked up at him then and waited patiently for William to continue. He was sick of trying to make interpretations of a man who kept his emotions so bottled up.

"Don't let them cut everything off," he said. "Just your bangs. Technically that's all I need. I have to be able to see your eyes. Everything else is fine."

Undertaker stared at him a moment with a blank stare, then a snicker rolled through him, and finally he doubled over with laughter. "Is that the problem? My bangs?" He flipped his hair back and pulled a pair of bobby pins out of his pocket. He opened them with his teeth and slipped them through the strands, securing the shorter hair to his head in a matter of seconds.

William blinked.

"I'll have to grow them out more to keep them out of the way for good, but for now I just have to train them. Goodness, William!" He put a hand to his chest, "Don't frighten me like that! I thought you wanted me to cut everything off. I just - I just don't think I could go through with it."

William shook his head, "I'm sorry." His entire demeanor changed when he saw Undertaker's pained expression. He wasn't looking at him with the cold gaze of a supervisor, or the adulation of a fan, but as a young chap pitying an ancient idol long past his prime. Even knowing he was probably the best fighter in all of London, it still made Undertaker terribly uncomfortable. His mouth went running and his hands went gesticulating before he even knew it.

"I mean, I've had this look for several centuries. I know that's difficult for you to understand, but it's a long time to have a look that you love. I couldn't just cut it all off in an instant, you know? You have to work up to that kind of monumental decision! Get yourself psyched to do it. To be honest, all of this is just a little bit-"

He was surprised when William put a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, really. As long as you work in my Dispatch Unit, I promise you will never be forced to cut your hair."

"Thanks, Will." They sat down at a bench a short ways from the barber shop. Once getting him seated, William picked up some drinks and a bag of chocolate chip cookies from a cart.

"I understand you have a fondness for cookies?" William asked.

"Yes," Undertaker grinned. "Thank you kindly." He munched on a few cookies not quite sure what to say. When he wasn't putting on a performance, he often had a hard time coming up with words. It didn't help that William seemed to have a similar problem.

"Sorry about the all the drama," Undertaker smiled. "It's embarrassing to be so attached to it. A bit of hair oughtn't make a reaper so emotional, am I right?"

"Nonsense," William somehow found a way to look professional even with cookie crumbs on his lips. "It's likely beyond your control. Possibly something that's tied over from your human existence. You're not the first Shinigami I've encountered with such an attachment."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Grell is one of the members of my dispatch unit, I believe you met him previously. He's also obsessed with his hair, and about not chopping it short. My theory is that it has something to do with his human existence."

Undertaker smiled, "That's quite observant! So you think I was just as vain in my human life then?"

William's cheeks went a light shade of pink. "That's not what I meant… I mean, I doubt you were ever vain. You don't seem vain to me now."

"I don't think any chap with a statue can escape from being a wee bit vain at times," Undertaker chuckled. As much fun as it was to see William squirm, he decided to change the subject. "So you're interested in the past lives of reapers, I take it?"

"Sort of. My hobby is primarily in Shinigami history, but I've found my interests have bled into the psychological as well since I became a supervisor. You might be surprised how much the two fields bleed over when studying our kind."

"We do go mad quite regularly, I think. Or… at least I do!"

William didn't laugh as Undertaker had hoped he would. Instead he just stared at him. Undertaker took a sip of his drink, "So history is your thing, eh?"

"Yes, I'm actually…" William shifted in his seat. "I moderate a list serve for your… official fan club."

Undertaker smiled, "I have a fan club?"

"Oh yes," William took a long drink. "We're quite active actually. I was going to wait a bit before broaching the question to you, but since we are on the topic, would you be interested in answering a few questions on the list? Or maybe even making an in-person appearance?"

"That sounds lovely. Though if it's all the same, I'd like to have some time to get back into the business of reaping first. I prefer to dip the toes first, if you know what I mean."

"Of course." William glanced down at his watch, "I suppose we should go ahead and return to the Dispatch Unit. I'll introduce you to the others and I might see if Ronald or Grell might give you a tour."

"Oh yes, I think I've met those two before." Undertaker gave a wide smile, "Just not under the best circumstances."


End file.
